Desert
by NaomiP
Summary: Luka goes to Darfur, leaving a pregnant Abby behind. In chapter 10, Baby makes 3 ... or maybe Baby makes 2. Or one. 'It's the Alliance de ... something. Somebody French.' I'm going to finish this. Promise. Cross my heart.
1. Chapter 1

"Unbearable Brightness" is still creeping along, but I'm getting the feeling that my readers would much rather read about Luka. (And I have much more fun writing about Luka.) So ... here we are, a new story about Luka. The background of the story is that things are exactly as they are on the show ... until the story begins at the start of "Strange Bedfellows", at which point they change rather dramatically.

(Added a/n 4/30/06) Oops, just realized a month later that I'd forgotten the disclaimer stuff. So sue me, it's been a lousy month. If TPTB allowed us to quote stuff here, I'd say something about April being the cruelest month. But we can't, so I won't. Anyway, here's the disclaimer. They own the show, I own this specific arrangement of words on the screen.)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I got an email from Carter this morning," Luka said quietly. He took a sip of his coffee and looked at Abby's face to see how she would react. Her expression revealed nothing.

"How's he doing?"

"He's fine." Luka took a breath and plunged on. "He asked me to come to Africa and help him out for a while."

Abby stared at him for a minute. "He wants you to go back to the Congo?"

"Sudan, actually. He's in Darfur now. And I wrote back and told him 'yes.' I'm going to go."

Abby jumped up from the bench and took a few steps out into the ambulance bay before turning to face him again.

"Just how short is your memory, Luka? Last time you went to Africa you almost died … they told us all you had died. As it was, you came home with a nasty case of malaria ... you were sick for months."

Luka shook his head and rose to stand before her, put his hands on her shoulders. "That was different. I was different. I took a lot of stupid chances … I did a lot of stupid things." His voice softened. "I didn't have anything to live for then, but I do now. Besides, Darfur isn't like the Congo. It's hell for the locals, but it's pretty safe for aid workers."

"Pretty safe. Right." Abby's hand went to touch her belly, and Luka laid his own hand over hers.

"Abby, you aren't due for almost 4 months. I'll be gone for a month, 6 weeks at the most. I'll be back in plenty of time. You won't have to do this alone, I promise."

"I just don't understand why you want to go." Abby pushed his hand away and turned away from him again.

"I have to go. They need me there."

"And I need you here. Your patients need you here."

"I know I can't make you understand this, Abby. Unless you've been over there you can't understand. But trust me, this is important to me. I need to do this again. And this is really my only opportunity. Once the baby comes I won't be able to, but this is a good time. You're doing great, the baby's doing great. Vic's back from his leave, with the two new attendings we're fully staffed again.

Abby finally nodded slowly and pasted on a smile."Just promise me you won't fall in love with anyone over there. It seems to be an occupational hazard."

"What do you mean?"

"Gillian, Kem … there must be something in the water over there."

"There's no water in Darfur. Which is, of course, part of the problem."

Abby half-smiled againat the joke then said, "Does Carter know about me? About us? About this?"

"You asked me not to tell him, so I didn't."

"Maybe you should have. Then he'd never have asked you to come."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dust.

The Congo had been mud and jungle and suffocating humidity. Darfur was just dust. It billowed up from beneath the wheels of the land rover and settled in a thick layer on his skin, coated the hairs on his arms and even filtered through the cloth he held over his nose and mouth. He would have closed the windows, but then the heat would have become unbearable.

But some things were no different. As the truck pulled through the checkpoint into the refugee camp the clouds of dust couldn't conceal of crowds of people. 65,000 of them, Carter had said. The naked toddlers with the swollen bellies, coppery hair and sticklike limbs of starvation were bad enough. But worse, somehow, were the adults; the brightly colored robes of the women and white tunics of the men contrasting sharply with the dull look in their eyes and blank expressions that said too clearly that they'd long since passed fear and desperation and settled firmly into hopelessness. Refugees driven from the homes by a war they didn't understand or care about, fleeing from one type of danger and finding themselves stranded in another. Some of them squatted in the sand by the road. Others wandered aimlessly, or peered through the window of the land-rover at him; wondering, perhaps, if this new white face would offer them something that the previous ones had not.

Carter was waiting for him in front of the medical tent as the rover drew to a stop. He greeted Luka with a wide grin and a firm handshake.

"I hope you're not expecting the Mayo Clinic," he said. "Or the Hilton."

"I'd settle for Motel 6," Luka joked back. "Or at least a shower." He brushed some of the dust from his arms.

"Sorry. There are three empty cots in that tent over there; take your pick." Carter jerked his head towards a small tent just behind the medical tent. "And if you want to dump your stuff, we'll get you right to work."

Luka gazed around him for a moment and dug his sunglasses out of his pocket. Now that he wasn't enveloped in a cloud of dust, the glare was blinding. A line of patients squatting patiently in the dust began right outside the door and stretched far into the distance.

"What's wrong? Kisangani not enough of a challenge for you any more?"

"Too much of a challenge." Carter followed Luka into the staff tent. "The Alliance pulled out of the area about three months ago; it had gotten too dangerous. I could have stuck around, worked in Kem's AIDS clinic, but she's in Paris right now with her mother, so it seemed like a good opportunity for a change of scenery." He grinned. "I was kidding about getting right to work. You look pretty tired. I know the journey out here is … rough. If you want to rest for a while, get a bite to eat … I can probably even find you water for a shower."

"No, I'm fine. I'm here to work, so let's get to work. What do we have?"

"Right now it's mostly malnutrition and diarrhea for the kids, trauma and childbirth complications for the adults. Some communicable disease; measles, meningitis, hepititis. When the rains start in a couple of months we'll see a lot of cholera, malaria; all the usual stuff." A humorless smile. "Ok then, if you really want to get to work, let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

Apologies for the delay. I am really determined to get these chapters out at my old, prompt pace, but, as always, life got in the way. Chapter 3 WILL be along much more quickly. (It's almost done, and could have easily been part of this one, but I figured you'd waited long enough.)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Abby put her last chart in the discharge rack and looked around. She'd been avoiding thinking about this moment all day. Time to go home. But where was home? Luka's place had been her usual destination for the past 5 months. Not that they were living together, of course. The lease on her own apartment still read 'Abigail Lockhart;' plain as day.

A familiar voice at her elbow. "You off?" Neela stood there.

"Yeah."

"Do you have any plans?"

"Pizza and tv, I guess."

"Feel like a girl's night out?"

Abby considered. Neela was just being polite, of course. She knew that Luka was gone. Still, they hadn't seen much of each other in ages, not since Neela had started her surgery elective. And with Michael in Iraq, Neela no doubt could use some company too.

"We can still do pizza if you want," Neela went on. 'Ray's on tonight so we'd have the apartment to ourselves, or we can go to your place."

"Sure," Abby decided. "We can go to my place. I need to pick up the mail anyway."

xxxxxxx

An hour later Abby and Neela were comfortably munching pizza. Neela nursed a beer while Abby bravely choked down a glass of skim milk. The things she was doing for this baby ...

"So," Neela said, "Have you decided on names yet?"

"We've talked about it, but haven't settled on anything. Luka has his heart set on a Croatian name but … I dunno … Dragan Lockhart just isn't going to fly."

"Dragan?"

"That's about the best of the lot. The other names he's suggested are worse, I guarantee it."

"So it's going to be Lockhart then, and not Kovac?"

"That part we haven't discussed," Abby admitted. "I think he thinks it's going to be Kovac."

"You could always go back to Wyczinski. At least it's Slavic."

Abby snorted and shook her head. "Please … the poor kid's gunna have enough problems as it is."

"Well, why don't you just split it down the middle? You pick the first name, he picks the surname. 50-50, right? Sounds fair to me."

"Given that I'm the one who's going to be left with the stretch marks and leaking breasts, I think 60-40, or 70-30 sounds a lot closer to 'fair'.

Neela reached for another slice of pizza. "Well, you're going to need a middle name."

"He didn't even ask me!" Abby suddenly blurted out.

"About names?"

"About going to Africa. 'Hey Abby, I'm off to Darfur. See you in 6 weeks. I'll send you a postcard."

"Did he really say that?" Neela asked.

"Not quite, but he may as well have."

"And if he had asked you," Neela asked quietly, "What would you have said?"

"No fucking way."

"Then I think it's pretty obvious why he didn't ask you, right? I mean, if he had his heart set on going he was going to go. And if he'd asked you, and you'd said no, he would have had to do it against your wishes." Neela sipped her beer then rolled the bottle for a moment between her palms. "Michael didn't ask me either."

"Michael's in the army. He didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. They sent him back."

"No, he wanted to go back.He volunteered to go back. He still has two years to serve, but he could have done it stateside. He was supposed to start working at the VA hospital, but he changed his mind, volunteered to do another tour."

"You told us …" Abby started, but Neela interrupted.

"I lied." A wry smile. "It made the explanations a lot easier. 'I love you, Neela. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But only after I get my ass blown to pieces in Iraq.' It didn't sound good when he said it to me. It wasn't going to sound any better when I told it to you."

"What is it with men, Neela?" Abby asked. "They don't feel … complete … unless they are risking their lives in some Godforsaken corner of the globe? They all have to do it, don't they? Michael, Luka, Carter."

"Testosterone poisoning, I guess," Neela said with another half smile.

"Or just plain stupidity."

"Oh, I don't know." Neela was serious now. "Is it so stupid to want to help people? I mean … I really wish that Michael was here with me instead of in Iraq, but I also know that I'm being selfish. He's doing important work over there, and if he wasn't doing it, it would have to be someone else …someone else's husband … someone else's son. Someone else's father."

"Do you really think about it that way?"

"I try. It beats the alternative, which is sitting around and feeing sorry for myself. And crying a lot." Another swig of beer. "I figure it's this way, Abby. As long as there are wars … mostly started by men, there are going to be other people … also usually men … who have to wade in and pick up the pieces, patch up the victims. And I guess I can bejust a little bit glad that Michael's in the second group … that he's doing the patching up, not the killing."

"Well," Abby said after a moment. "I guess I'm just selfish then, because I think the whole thing sucks. Luka's the one who convinced me to go through with the pregnancy in the first place. He's the one who wanted this baby."

"You don't want the baby?" Neela looked shocked.

"I do now, but at first I wasn't sure. I didn't think I was ready to be a mother. I still don't think I'm ready. But I knew that Luka would never forgive me if I had an abortion. Hewants to be a father." Abby shook her head. "Or I thought he did. He said he did. But not, apparently, enough to stay around."

"He'll be back before the baby is born."

"I know. I keep telling myself that. It doesn't help. I just keep thinking that if he really … " Abby trailed off.

"If he really what?" Neela prompted.

A breath. "That if he really loved me, he would want to be here with me."


	3. Chapter 3

Some rather icky content in this chapter. Sorry, I didn't make it up. Really.

Also apologies if these chapters are a bit less polished than usual. I'm working without a beta at present.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He'd been there barely two hours, and already the old, too familiar, helpless feeling was coming back – the downside of working in places like this. For every life he saved, every patient he treated, there were five others for whom he could do nothing because he had too few supplies, too little equipment, or the patient had arrived too late.

He handed the infant back to her mother, the little body as frail as a bundle of twigs, as light as breath. He couldn't even guess how long the child had been dead. How long had the mother waited so patiently in line? It didn't really matter. Even if she were still alive now, Luka could have done nothing for her. Water was scarce, rehydration salts were scarce, and an infant as far gone as this one wouldn't have been eligible for treatment. Perhaps yesterday, or last week, but not today.

Luka found himself feeling almost glad that the baby was already dead. He could mutter his condolences through the translator and move on to his next patient. He didn't have to try to explain to the mother why he couldn't help her baby. He didn't have to explain death. This mother understood death; was more familiar with it than he would ever be.

A sudden commotion outside. Shouts and a woman's voice wailing in pain. Carter was already moving, and Luka followed him out the door. Three women were approaching, half-carrying, half-dragging a third woman. Or girl. It was hard to tell, her face was streaked with sweat and dust and contorted in pain, but she couldn't have been more than 15. Her bright green robes were stained below the waist with bright blood; more blood made a trail in the dust beneath her. Her wails were already fading in moans, her eyes going glassy with shock.

Luka's long strides took him to her side in an instant, and he picked her up. One of the other women started to protest, but she was hushed by her companions. Luka didn't understand the words, but the meaning was clear. They had brought her here to be treated, and she would be treated. By anyone. Still, as Luka started to bring the girl inside, he knew in his gut that this patient too was beyond help. She was bleeding to death, and the hospital had no blood. Unless they could stop the bleeding quickly, there would be nothing they could do.

By the time Luka set his frail burden down on the exam bed, she was unconscious; eyes rolled back in her head, breath coming in faint gasps.

Carter had joined him, and the grim look in his eyes told Luka that he knew the prognosis too, that he had seen this too many times before. Still, they had to try. Grabbing a pair of gloves, he pulled the curtain around the bed and turned back the blood soaked robes. The stomach muscles were loose and flabby. She had just given birth. This was a post-partum hemorrhage. A flicker of hope. If they could just get her uterus to clamp down …

"Do we have any Pit?" he asked Carter. Pitocin would help stop the bleeding and then, maybe they could keep her alive long enough for her body to replace the lost blood.

"We do, but it won't help." Carter spoke quietly.

"We can try!" Luka snapped. Then he fell silent. He was kneading the girl's abdomen, expecting to feel a uterus as flabby as the muscles around it, but it was hard, just as it should be. Maybe the bleeding was from vaginal laceration, even a torn cervix. He'd never seen those bleed this badly, but maybe that was the problem. Pulling up a stool he sat down and separated her thin legs … and felt his mouth go dry. Carter was watching him impassively.

Luka had seen plenty of traumatic deliveries in his time, but never anything like this. She was torn open from rectum to pubic bone, but it was more than that. The genitalia just looked … wrong.

He looked from his patient to Carter and back again. Carter finally reached over and pulled the bloody robes down to cover her.

"Welcome to the wonderful world of infibulation," he said quietly. "We see two or three of these a week, and probably three times that many bleed to death out there." He jerked his head toward the door. "These women are nothing but scar tissue and when it tears, it really tears."

Infibulation. Luka had heard of it. Female circumcision, female genital mutilation, call it what you liked. He'd even seen the occasional patient with less extensive cutting come through the ER. But he'd never seen anything quite like this. What had he read about it, long ago? They removed all the external genitalia from the girls at the age of 5 or 6, using razor blades or glass, then sewed together what was left, leaving only a tiny opening for urine and menstrual blood. It was supposed to keep the women chaste. Assuming they survived.

Swallowing hard, Luka stripped off his gloves then scooted his chair around to the side of the bed. He couldn't do anything for her, but he could allow her a little bit of dignity in her last moments. He stroked her hair and waited, but not very long. The last moments came quickly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dinner was mint tea and millet porridge by lantern-light. Not that Luka was hungry. He'd been without sleep for too many hours. He'd seen too much.

"Having second thoughts?" Carter asked.

"No, it's just …"

"Different than what you expected," Carter finished for him. "Darfur, also known as Hell-on-Earth. It was different from what I'd expected too. The irony is that this is a pretty well organized relief effort. We've got a dozen different NGO's working out here. But there's just too many people in too small a space,trying to survive in an absolute wasteland. There's only so much we can do when everything has to be trucked in. Water and food take priority. Medicine is a distant third and things like generator fuel get tucked into the odd spaces left over. A couple hundred people die here every day, and a couple thousand more arrive every week to replace them. But we _do_ make a different here, Luka. We save lives. Not as many as we'd like, but some." Carter managed a tired smile. "And I am glad you're here. And _you _might be glad to hear that I'm trying to convince Gillian to come."

"Really?" Luka managed to feign interest.

"I haven't quite talked her into it yet." Carter's eyes twinkled. "But now that you're here, I'm sure the balance will tip in our favor."

"Don't bring her over on my account," Luka said quietly.

"I thought you and Sam weren't together anymore."

"We're not."

"But there's someone else." Not a question.

"Yeah."

"Anyone I know?" Luka just sipped his tea and stared into the cup and Carter raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, "Ok, none of my business. I can take a hint." Then more soberly. "Seriously though, what we really need here, more than nurses, are more female doctors. There are three medical stations in the camp, and only 2 female doctors between them. Most of the women here won't let themselves be treated by men, not for anything gynecological or obstetric anyway. If we could get more of these women in here _before_ it was already 20-minutes-past-too-late – if they knew that there were female doctors available to treat them, we might do better."

"Sounds sensible," Luka agreed tiredly. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open.

"What I was thinking was … do you think Abby might be willing?"

"No." Short.

"She's not an OB, but the combination of OB nursing experience and ER medicine would be perfect here."

"She can't come, Carter."

"How do you know? Look … I know things have sometimes been a little awkward, but …"

"It's not that." Luka sighed. It was going to have to come out eventually. "She can't come because she's pregnant."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That's terrific! If it's any of my business … who?"

"Me." Despite his fatigue, Luka couldn't keep the smile from breaking through. A smile that Carter matched.

"Wow, that's _really_ great, Luka. I'm happy for you. When is she due?"

"August. Everything's going great; with the pregnancy and with us."

"Don't worry, we'll have you home in time to cut the cord."

"Damn right you will. Now …" Luka pushed his half-full bowl away. "As delicious as this … stuff … is, if I don't get to bed, I'm going to be face down in it in another minute." He rose. "Oh, John, what's the communication set up around here?"

"With the real world, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Crap, like everything else. No cell phone reception. Computer's available in the admin office for personal e-mail one hour a week. You can send Abby a love note on Friday at 3 p.m. Now go to bed. We're up with the sun."


	4. Chapter 4

Abby put her chart in the rack and started for the lounge. As she turned, her belly scraped against the edge of the desk, and she bit back the urge to swear. The second time today. The first time, she had sworn, and Frank had said, "Be careful, Abby, you know that the baby can hear every word you say, don't you? Do you want his first word to be 'Mama', or something unprintable with four letters?"

"Mama has four letters, Frank," she had said. But still, he was probably right. Not that she was worried about being a bad influence on the baby, (there would be plenty of time for that later on) but there were the medical students to think about. And the patients. She should set a good example.

The lounge was empty. Abby sat down on the couch and put her feet up. Her shift was over but she was in no rush to go home. She'd rest for a while first. Almost four more months of this, and it was only going to get worse. Maybe marsupials had the right idea. Give birth to 'em early, and then carry 'em around for a while on the _outside._

She hadn't had any morning sickness, and she could be grateful for that, but she knew that there was no escaping all of the … euphemistically labeled … 'discomforts of pregnancy.' Her back already ached at the end of every shift. And soon would come the stretch marks, hemorrhoids; needing to pee every 15 minutes as the baby began to squish her bladder.

And the most inevitable of all … Abby spread her hands across her belly, trying to get a sense of how big it was today. Every day she looked a little more like a watermelon on legs. She was thin, she had always been thin. And she just _couldn't_ get used to this. The first trimester she had managed to hide her pregnancy pretty well, under loose-fitting scrubs. Or maybe not. Maybe the rest of the staff had just been too polite to comment on her rapidly ballooning form. That 'no morning sickness', combined with quitting cigarettes cold turkey had a definite downside.21 pounds worth, to be precise, at her last OB visit.

Janet had been understanding about it. "_I'm not really worried about it, Abby. You were underweight to begin with, and all women gain at different rates, so a little extra pregnancy weight's no big deal. As long it's all from healthy foods, and I'm sure it is, you can pretty muchlet the pounds fall where they may. Just remember, you do have 18 weeks yet to go_."

Healthy food. Yeah right. Well … pizza was healthy. She'd finished up the rest of the large pizza after Neela had left the other night. Pop tarts were less so. Especially an entire box of them for dinner.

But she had to do something. _Face it, Lockhart, you've got an addictive personality._ She couldn't drink anymore, she couldn't smoke. She'd already done all the shopping she could possibly justify. So that left eating.

And suddenly the thought jumped into her head – a very uncomfortable one. Of course Luka had left. He couldn't possibly find her attractive any more. Physically, she looked like a slowly inflating Goodyear blimp. Emotionally … 'hormonal' was the politically correct term, but 'bitchy' was probably more accurate. Definitely more accurate.

Yeah, Luka would come back, just in time to see the baby arrive. The baby was what he wanted, not her. If she hadn't gotten pregnant – it she hadn't been so stupid, would they still be together? Probably not. And if he had gotten Sam pregnant … or Chuny … or … Gillian … or any one of the God knew how many other women he'd been with, no doubt one of _them_ would be doing the picket fence and pablum routine, not her.

He wouldn't go anywhere after the baby was born. The next 18 years he would definitely be here. Luka was dependable … he understood duty. That was one thing you could say for him. And he loved kids in a way that she knew she never would.

The door opened and Sam came in. "Hey, are you ok, Abby?" she asked.

And Abby realized that her eyes were wet. She quickly wiped them. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little hormonal, I guess."

"I can see that. It must be tough, communicating only by email."

Abby snorted. "I'd settle for an email. It would be better than nothing."

"You didn't get one?"

"No, not yet."

"I did, and so did Frank; though I guess his was for the whole staff. Just a couple of lines, but it was nice to hear from him." Sam frowned. "When did you last check your email?"

"Yesterday."

"Well, you might want to check today. I can't imagine he wouldn't have written you." Sam was grinning now, and Abby jumped from her seat and almost ran for the desk.

Sure enough, buried in 2 days worth of spam was the easily missed, "I Miss You," and Abby had to blink back fresh tears so she could read the body of the letter.

_Abby,_

_This will have to be short. We don't have access to email much, and a lot of people need to use the computer. Things are going great here. The work keeps me busy, which is good, because it doesn't leave me much time to think about how much I miss you._

_I told Carter about us. I know you told me not to, but I knew I couldn't hide it forever, so I thought it was better to just tell him. He's happy for us._

_Well, I have to go. I'll try to write again next week._

_Volim te,_

_Luka_

Well, it was better than nothing. But still, maybe if hadn't written to Frank and Sam … and God knows who else, he might have had time for a little more than this. Sam … Christ! Of all the people he might have written to, why did he write to Sam? She had dumped him in the middle of Colorado, and he felt obligated to send her an email from the other side of the world.

She should write back, of course. He would be expecting to hear from her. But what to say? "I miss you too?" Too damned trite. "I gained 2 pounds this week?" She was a terrible letter writer, she always had been. Maybe that was why shedidn't have an email account, except for the one she had to have through work. And she couldn't remember the last time she'd sent a personal email to anyone.

Still, she had to write back. No choice in the matter, really. She hit 'reply' and stood for a minute, fingers poised over the keyboard.

_Luka._

No. Backspace.

_Dear Luka._

Not much better. '_My darling Luka_?' No, that just sounded stupid. 'Dear Luka' would have to do.

_I got your email. I'm glad you're having a good time over there_. (Shit … did that sound idiotic or what?) _Things are fine here. I'm doing good, and so is the baby. He's kicking a lot this week._

_I'm glad you told Carter about us. It was silly of me to think that he shouldn't know._

_I'm really looking forward to having you home again. I know it won't be too much longer_.

Abby read over what she had written. Could it be any more inane if she'd tried? Well, it would have to do. Served him right for impregnating a woman who was the world's worst correspondent.

_Love, Abby_. (send)

What sort of letters did Neela send to Michael? She was probably much more eloquent. Writing with a British accent she would have to be. Her letters were probably a lot sexier too. Well, maybe when Luka had been gone a little longer, when she was feeling a little hornier, she would come up with something sexy to write to him. But for now, stilted and inane would have to do.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Abby flopped down on the couch. One good thing about Luka being gone; she could finally justify the rent checks she kept writing for her apartment. She just couldn't stay at Luka's place without having him there. It was, after all, Luka's place. They weren't living together. Maybe, after the baby was born, they would see how the separate apartments worked and reconsider, if necessary. But for now, she lived here, he lived there. And never the twain …

But God … she needed to do something. Sitting in front of the tv gorging herself on take-out just wasn't going to do it. Not for 3 ½ more weeks straight, anyway.

Neela was always good company. They'd had fun the other night. Neela wasn't working tonight, she knew. Maybe she'd like to do something. It would get her out of the house, anyway. Abby reached for the phone.

Three rings, and Neela picked up. "Hello?" Her voice sounded husky.

"Hi, it's Abby. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"Ummm… no …"

"You sound awful. Do you have a cold?" There went that plan.

"No." A snuffling sound. "I'm fine, Abby. It's just …."

"You're feeling lonely and sorry for yourself too," Abby interrupted. "Maybe we can do it together? Over Chinese food?"

Now it was Neela's turn to interrupt. "No! It's not that. I ummm…" Neela cleared her throat and her voice was suddenly very steady. "Two men from the army came to see me today." Abby's grip tightened on the phone. "Michael is dead." A long pause, but before Abby could internalize what Neela had said, and come up with a response, Neela continued. "They were really nice, Abby. You know … I still have such a hard time breaking the bad news to families, and they did it so well. Maybe we should get the army to come in … do a seminar or something ... for the residents..."

"Neela!" Abby finally broke in. "Stop it!" God … she had been feeling sorry for herself all evening. How long had Neela been coping with this horrible news? "Is Ray there?"

"Ray? No, he had a date tonight. He went right from work. I haven't seen him."

"Is anyone there with you?"

"No, but that's ok. I'd really rather be alone right now, Abby."

"That's not a good idea. If you don't want to see me, let me call someone else for you."

A moment's hesitation from Neela, broken only by fresh sniffling. "Ok … yeah, you're right. I guess I could use someone to talk to."

"Can I come over then?"

"No!" Neela said quickly. Then, more slowly,"Could I come over there? Ray is going to be home in a few hours. He'll probably bring his girlfriend … I wouldn't want to spoil their evening."

"That's fine. You come over whenever you're ready. I'll be here."

"Where's 'here'?"

"My place. I'll order us something to eat."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Neela was on her doorstep 20 minutes later. Abby welcomed her with a warm hug. "I'm sorry, Neela."

Neela didn't answer, just broke free from the embrace and walked slowly into the room. She didn't sit down.

When the silence had stretched on for a few minutes, Abby finally said, "The food will be here soon. I decided to get Italian instead of Chinese. Antonio's. I got you cheese lasagna."

"That's fine."

"Do his parents know?"

"I called them a little while ago; I got the machine. I'll try again later."

Abby nodded. "What … what happened? Did they say?"

A quick nod from Neela. "He was on his way to a new unit, he'd been transferred to another hospital. The chopper crashed. Mechanical problems, they said." There were suddenly tears in her eyes and Neela wiped at them impatiently. "What an idiotic way to die, Abby. He couldn't even die a fucking hero, saving someone else's life. It had to be something completely mundane and stupid and meaningless. An MVA. He could have died in an MVA right here in Chicago!" She was pacing the room now. "What am I supposed to tell people? I mean, I have to tell his family the truth, but what do I tell everyone else? That he died in a freak accident?" A bitter laugh. "Maybe I'll just lie again. I'm getting pretty good at it. Let's see … he was shot while single-handedly carrying 6 wounded soldiers from the front lines … doing CPR on four of them simultaneously …"

"He _was _a hero!" Abby interrupted firmly. "Just by being there, Neela. By volunteering to go back when he could have stayed safely at home. He chose to put himself in harm's way. That's pretty damned heroic in anyone's book."

"I would rather he'd been a coward, Abby," Neela said softly. She finally sat down beside her. "I'd rather he was a coward, and alive, and here with me."

"If he was a coward, he would have been a different person. He wouldn't have been the man you fell in love with."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Abby switched off the light and climbed into bed. Neela was asleep on the couch. They'd called Ray and left a message on the machine. No details, just that Neela was spending the night. They knew that he'd be worried if Neela didn't come home. The details could wait.

And Neela had finally gotten a hold of Michael's parents and told them the news. Abby had been diplomatically in the bathroom while they talked, but she had heard Neela's sobs though the bathroom door.

Trying to get comfortable in bed, Abby's knew she should be thinking about her friend, hurting for her, but her thoughts wandered back to her own problems. What had Luka said to her that day in the ambulance bay? "_It's pretty safe for aid workers."_ And how often had Neela said much the same thing? That if Michael had to be over there, she was glad he was a doctor. The hospitals were about the safest places one could be if one _had_ to be in Iraq. For all the good it had done him. He was still dead. And Luka could still die in Africa. He also might never come home. In the Congo, what had almost killed him? Not enemy bullets, but a microscopic parasite. It wasn't the 'stupid chances' that had done it, but something almost completely unavoidable.

And now he was gone again. He'd promised her a dozen times that he would come home, but they both knew that was a promise he might not be able to keep. There were dangers in Darfur, they both knew that. And there was no way Luka could avoid them all, not if he was going to do the job he had gone over there to do.

_Come on, Abby. There are dangers everywhere. People die in stupid meaningless ways every single day. Right here in Chicago. You see it every time you go into work. Life is about taking chances, facing risks. There are no geographic locations that are completely free of danger. Carter was almost killed right in the hospital. You were beaten up in this very apartment. _

"But I'd still rather you were here with me," Abby murmured. She wrapped her arms around the other pillow and closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep before the tears started again.


	5. Chapter 5

I appreciate your patience. Really ...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luka stepped out onto the porch and sat down on the steps. The admin building had a porch. It had walls too. It even had electricity part of the time. The veritable lap of luxury.

The hierarchy was all too clear, and all too ironic. Administration got walls and fans and electric lights. The medical staff (and the patients lucky enough … or unlucky enough to be sick enough need a bed and lucky enough to actuall get one) got tents and cots and kerosene. And the residents, an entire city worth of them, got nothing at all. A tiny minority, a scant few, had tents. A few others had managed to rig up some sort of rough shelter – cardboard, a sheet of tin, a length of cloth. But most, the vast majority had nothing but the clothes they wore. They ate and slept, lived (and, far too often, died) in the open air, with nothing to shelter them from the blazing desert sun or the bitter cold of the desert night.

Not that he could see any of that right now. The other irony was that the door of the admin building faced away from the camp – it faced northwest. Perhaps it faced towards home.

Fumbling in his pocket Luka took out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and slowly drew in the smoke. He'd quit smoking back home, for the sake of the baby and for Abby's sake. It was hard enough for her to abstain without having to watch him enjoying a smoke. But his second day back here, he'd started again. There were too few pleasures out here for him to deny himself one of the few available. Oh well, it would be easy enough for him to quit again once he returned home. He'd quit plenty of times before.

Footsteps behind him, and Carter joined him on the steps.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"What?"

"The sunset." Carter smiled. "Amazing isn't it, that in the most desolate and hellish places on Earth, there can still be such incredible beauty." He helped himself to a cigarette from the pack Luka had left on the step. "Almost makes you believe that there might be a God."

Luka didn't answer, just looked down at his hand, and the smaller red glow on the tip of his cigarette, a tiny image of the sunset.

"Or maybe," Carter suggested, "you weren't even thinking about the sunset. Maybe you were thinking about something even more beautiful."

"I was actually trying not to fall asleep," Luka admitted.

"It's been 3 weeks and you're still not used to these 26 hour workdays?"

"I must be getting old. I'm getting to where I need my sleep."

"Was there a message from Abby?"

"Yeah, the usual. 'How are you, I'm fine, the baby's fine. Hope to see you soon.'"

"Well, you _will _be seeing her soon this time. One more week, right? Unless I can convince you to stay?"

"One more week," Luka said firmly. Then,"Anything from Kem?" And he regretted asking, seeing the shadow pass over Carter's face.

"The usual there too. Her mom's still hanging in there; she doesn't need me to come to Paris." It was now Carter's turn to look at his cigarette. He turned it over slowly in his hands until Luka finally handed him the lighter.

"You've been apart a long time," Luka said softly. Maybe he shouldn't ask, but something told him that there was _something_ Carter wanted to talk about.

"Almost 3 months this time."

"Must be hard."

"Yeah." A long silence, then, "It's hard knowing that she's never going to love me as much as I love her."

"She married you, didn't she? That should say something. Everytime I try to bring it up with Abby, she changes the subject."

A silent nod and a half smile, and Carter twisted the gold band on his finger. "Kem knew it was what I wanted. She did it for me, not for ... us.We've barely been together. Wherever I am, she always has reasons to be someplace else."

"Her mother is dying, John. That's not exactly something trivial."

Carter went on as if he hadn't spoken. "It's been two years. She won't even consider trying for another child. I have to wonder if … maybe … she thinks that if we have a child together … she won't be able to leave so easily."

In the three weeks he'd been there, this was the first time, since that first evening, that they'd really sat down and talked. Usually they were both occupied with patients, and any conversation revolved around work. And by the time the last patient had been treated, they were both too tired to do more than swallow a few mouthfuls of dinner and fall into bed.

Or maybe he'd just been avoiding it. If he talked to Carter about anything besides work, they would have to talk about home. And talking about home, thinking about home was just too painful. It was painful being apart from her, much more painful that he'd expected it to be. And even more painful was realizing that he knew exactly what Carter was feeling – that she too might never love him as much as he loved her. All those years, through Nicole and Gillian and Sam, he'd never really stopped loving her. And if something should happen to the baby would they end up like Carter and Kem? Or worse, since theyweren't yet married ...No ...he couldn't even go there. To lose Abby and the baby … no … think about something else. She was fine, the baby was fine. She'd said so in her email. Think about something else.

The sunset _was_ beautiful. In the past three weeks this was the first time he'd seen it. Usually they stayed busy at work until it was too dark to see. But today, a power outage had delayed their weekly computer time until late in the afternoon. By the time they got back it _would _be too dark to see so, barring emergencies (and there were always emergencies), the hospital had closed early for the night. He could actually have an hour off before going to bed. He could sit here, relax, watch the sunset, enjoy his cigarette, and even forget that, a few hundred yards away, were 60,000 starving refugees.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Carter asked, after a few minutes of pleasant silence.

"I was just thinking how peaceful it all seems now," Luka admitted.

"Unfortunately, it's probably the calm before the storm."

"Cheerful, aren't we?" Luka had to laugh.

"Being literal, actually. The rains will be starting in a week or two. I'm told it gets pretty grim."

Luka shook his head, confused. "Don't they need rain? This _is_ the desert. Surely water is a good thing."

"No shelter, no mosquito nets, no latrines, no drainage. Cholera isn't a good thing. Neither is malaria."

"I'll be gone by then," Luka said airily.

"Yeah … yeah …"

A sudden flurry of footsteps, and one of the local nurses appeared around the corner of the building. "Doctors, you must come."

"Calm before the storm …" Carter repeated softly, then sighed, and stubbed out his cigarette. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Eight injured people walked in from the desert."

"If they walked in they can't be too bad," Luka said optimistically. But he was already hurrying, close behind Carter towards the hospital tent.

The hospital was eerily quiet. Too quiet. Luka had always been impressed by the stoicism of his patients here, but surely one of the eight should be crying … moaning … making some sound. He stepped inside.

The tent was divided into three open cubicals, each with a cot, each lit by a single kerosene lantern.A larger open area in front held benches for ambulatory patients. Each bed held a blood-stained form. Three women sat on a bench, each holding a nakedbaby. Two slightly older children sat silent on the floor. All were covered with dust and blood.

Carter went immediately to check the bed patients, while Luka approached one of the mother-baby pairs. The baby was whimpering, a hopeful sign, and the mother was trying unsuccessfully to get it to nurse.

"May I?" Luka asked, holding out his hands. Reluctantly the woman relinquished the child, and Luka sat on the unoccupied bench to examine it. "Ask her what happened," he asked the nurse.

Amal asked a quiet question in Arabic, and the woman gave a long, but equally quiet answer.

"They walked 6 days from their burnt village," Amal translated. "This morning they met soldiers; the soldiers shot at them and rode away. 3 were killed at once, 12 were injured. Only 3 were not hurt, this mother, one baby and a six year old child."

Luka had been only half listening, while examining his patient. The baby looked to be about 8 months old but, like almost all the children here, weighed less than half what an American baby of the same age would weigh. Two gunshot wounds, one through and through the left thigh, barely missing the bone, the other just a graze across the chest. He had lost quite a lot of blood, but neither wound was life threatening. All things considered, he was lucky. Very lucky.

Then suddenly Amal's words sank in. "This morning? Why did they only arrive now?"

"They had to walk many kilometers, and they are hurt. They could only walk slowly."

"And there are only eight here. She said 12 …"

Another quiet question to the mother. And then the answer. "Four could not walk and they could not carry them. Two men, two women.

Luka nodded and handed the baby to Amal. "Disinfect and bandage the wounds, and tell the mother that the baby will be fine." He turned to his next patient.

A few minutes later Carter emerged from checking the bed patients. "What have you got?" he asked.

"Two will need surgery; an infant and a four year old with bullet wounds to the abdomen. The others are all minor; leg wounds and a bullet through the shoulder. They all mostly just need rehydration and something to eat. I'm guessing yours are worse?"

"A six year old girl is DOA. A ten year old boy and a girl who looks about 12 have leg wounds, neither one should need surgery." He shook his head in wonder. "Amazing that it wasn't any worse."

"It's worse," Luka said quietly.

"What?"

"There are four more still out there, too badly injured to walk."

"Out where?"

"Who knows." Luka was already beginning to regret having mentioned it. He'd promised Abby ….

"We can't just leave them out there," Carter said firmly, apparently reading his thoughts.

"We'll never find them in the dark," Luka objected, then sighed and turned back to his informant. "Does she know exactly where the others are?" he asked Amal. She relayed the question and got, in response, a torrent of words.

"A day's walk straight south. They camped last night by a grove of trees and a dry river, and had walked two hours north from the camp when the soldiers came."

Luka looked at Carter. "It's been 12 hours at least. They're probably dead by now."

"But if they're not … 12 hours on foot … some of these women are pretty badly hurt, they couldn't have walked very fast … maybe 20 miles? In the rover we could cover that in less than an hour."

"Or we could drive right past and not even see them, and end up wandering the desert for hours."

Carter shook his head, confused. "This isn't like you at all, Luka. Are you seriously saying we should leave them out there to die?"

"No," Luka said quickly. "It's just …" He trailed off. Carter would go alone if he didn't go with him. And it wasn't really dangerous. The worst that would happen is that they wouldn't find the victims and they'd turn around and come back to the camp. "You're right," he finally said. "I think I'm just tired. Of course we have to go get them."


	6. Chapter 6

Once again I apologize for the endless delays in updating this fic. I have lots of good excuses, mostly involved a hellish schedule (45 hour work week, classes, family stuff.) There is another reason too, discussed in a bit more detail in an author's note at the end of this chapter. I will try and do better and at least get this fic finished before the end of the decade.

------------------------------------------------------------

"Mrs. Blair?" Abby pushed through the curtain into the cubical. "I'm Dr. Lockhart. What seems to be the trouble today?"

Mrs. Blair was about her own age, and looked much too healthy and much too cheerful to be in the ER. She definitely looked better than Abby felt.

"Call me Mel, please. It burns when I pee and I have to go every 10 minutes." She smiled at Abby and reached out for her stomach. "But I guess you're probably familiar with the feeling by now. The every 10 minutes part, not the burning."

Abby managed to smile back, having jumped backwards just in time to avoid the 'belly pat.' "I'm actually managing to hold out for 12 minutes these days." She turned her attention to her patient's triage notes. 35 years old, no fever, normal vitals. "Do you get bladder infections often?"

"Fairly often, yes. I usually see my own doctor, but it's Saturday." Mel shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "When are you due?"

"August. I still have 12 weeks to go."

"Your first?"

"Yes."

"Well, I've had two of my own. The third trimester is the easiest part, really. I felt better those last two months than the whole rest of my pregnancy." A grin. "I guess it's nature's way of giving us a break before labor. Not that labor's too awful, mind you. Not that I'm trying to scare you or anything. As a doctor I'm sure you know much more about these things that I do, even after my two labors, with the second one ending in an emergency c-section."

"You're not scaring me," Abby assured her, and bit back the urge to add 'just pissing me off.' She grabbed a specimen cup from the drawer. "If you can fill that up for us and give it to the nurse, we'll see if we can't get you fixed up and out of here and back to your two kids. Restroom's down the hall and to the left."

"I know. I've been there twice already while waiting for you. Not that I don't understand how busy you are … and I'm sure you're not moving as fast as you usually do … one of the more annoying parts of pregnancy, I found!"

"I'll be back in a few minutes to check on you and finish your exam," Abby interrupted firmly, and pushed back out through the curtains and towards the lounge where she would be able to sit down for a few minutes.

Neela was sitting at the table charting.

Abby opened the fridge and took out her carton of skim milk. "If anyone had ever told me how much being pregnant _sucked_, I would have made sure he wore _three_ condoms."

"As opposed to how many?" Neela asked.

"One." Abby joined her at the table. "Most of the time anyway."

"So, what's today's problem?" Neela's voice was cheerful enough, if edged with a hint of forced patience. What are friends for if not to listen to you gripe? But surely she hadn't been bitching to her _quite_ that often. Had she? Oh well, what was one more bitch session.

"Besides the fact that my back is killing me? Why do strangers seem to think that pregnant women are public property? 'How much weight have you gained?' 'How often do you have to pee?' 'Will you be breastfeeding?' 'You aren't going to go back to work and leave your poor little baby in daycare, are you?' This morning a guy asked me if I had hemorrhoids!"

"Do you?" Neela asked with a smile.

And Abby had to laugh. Neela was so good at finding just the right thing to say, in just the right tone of voice, to snap her out of her bad moods. And really ... with all the _really _sick people she saw every day, and whatever crap Luka was dealing with in Darfour (he didn't tell her much about his work in his e-mails, but what he had told her, and what she was able to read the between the lines made it eminently clear that it wasn't a picnic over there), even what Neela had been through lately … in the greater scheme of things what were a few personal questions? She could always lie. Or a few hemorrhoids. She could lie about those too.

"Luka's due home soon, isn't he?" Neela asked after a minute.

"Yeah, soon," Abby said. "In this morning's email he said he'll let me know when his flight is. Probably next week or the week after."

"I'm sure you're looking forward to it."

"I am," Abby said quickly. But that was a lie too. In truth, she wasn't sure what she felt about it. The relationship was still so strange, so undefined. When Luka had left she'd been sure the time alone would be horrible … lonely … miserable. But it wasn't. It had been so easy to slip back into the old routines, into what her life had been like before. Her time with Carter, her first relationship with Luka, even Jake had just been blips on the radar. Big blips certainly, but still just blips. Alone was okay, it really was. Did she want Luka home again (and of course she did, she couldn't deny that much) because she loved him and liked being with him, or because she couldn't face having the baby, and raising the baby alone?

It was nice to think that marriage or relationships (or whatever it was she and Luka had) were about love. But maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just a practical arrangement … babies need two parents, right? They need someone to care for them and someone to put bread on the table, so nature had thoughtfully arranged for sexual reproduction. Maybe love, romantic love, didn't even exist at all. Maybe it was just lust, and comfort, and security. Nothing more. Maybe love was something invented by Barbara Cartland to sell books to naïve 19 year olds. She hadn't been 19 for a very long time. Not since she was ... well ... 19.

Neela's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Don't feel badly about me, Abby. I'm doing great." And Abby realized that Neela had misread her thoughtful expression as something else. Pity, perhaps. She was, once again, feeling sorry for herself while Neela _had_ been in love, really in love, and her lover was never coming home.

Should she lie again, tell Neela that she _was_ feeling sorry for her? Or the truth? Or something in between?

"I wasn't thinking about that," she finally admitted. "I was just thinking that it will be strange to have him home again. Good, but strange. It's been a long time." She shook her head and patted her stomach. "And I've gotten absolutely huge since he saw me last."

"He's going to love it," Neela said firmly. "And he's going to love you too."

"I know." Abby sighed, then levered herself out of the chair. "Still this is it. I cannot _wait_ for this pregnancy to be over. And if he wants a second one, he's going to have to advertise. I'm not doing this again." She paused by the door. "Aren't rats only pregnant for like … two weeks?"

"Elephants are pregnant for two years. Or something like that."

"I feel so much better knowing that," Abby said, and both of them laughed.

She stopped at the desk for Mrs. Blair's labs, then returned to the cubical.

"So, I got your labs. The dip shows red and white cells so it looks like another UTI. What does your primary doc usually give you?"

"Macrobid."

"Ok, I can write you a prescription, but let me just check you over …." Abby's words cut off with a wince as a sudden wave of pain rolled across her back.

The pain must have showed on her face because her patient said, "Are you ok?"

The pain vanished almost as quickly as it had come, leaving behind just her usual 24/7 backache.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Abby said with a forced smile. "I'm on my feet a lot in this line of work, that's all."

She did a quick physical exam, scribbled out the prescription, and then escaped the cubical once more.

Jing Mei had worked, she remembered, almost to her delivery date. Other pregnant residents she'd known over the years had done the same. If she missed too much time, she knew, she'd have to do the year over again. (Rumor had it that Jing Mei had almost been turned down for the chief resident spot because she'd taken a 6 week maternity leave.) Still, maybe once Luka got home she would take some time off. There was something to be said, after all, for those practical and economic benefits of marriage (or whatever it was that she and Luka had). And if she had to do the year over … well … she'd waited this long, one more year wouldn't be the end of the world.

Still when, at the desk, she winced as she reached for another chart and another twinge of pain went across her back, and Frank said, "In my generation we had it right … pregnant women stayed home and nested while awaiting the happy event," she snapped back, "I'm quite capable, Frank!" It was one thing to bitch to herself, or her friends. It was quite something else to hear her bitching validated by someone who had never been pregnant, and never would be.

Another two hours and she could go home, put her feet up, and send out for pizza. Another week and Luka would be home, and he could send out for pizza.

Two more patients – a toddler with a runny nose and an elderly woman with chest pain. She was heading down the hall again when Neela motioned her over into a quiet side corridor.

"What?"

"I guess you hadn't noticed," Neela said softly. "But you're leaking." Abby's hand went automatically to her chest. She'd been oozing colostrum a bit lately, but surely not that much. "No," Neela said with a rather embarrassed smile. "Lower down."

Abby touched her pants. Wet. Shit. "Why didn't anyone say anything to me?" She felt a blush creep over her face.

"Too discreet, I suppose."

"So it's better for me to walk around with wet pants all afternoon feeling like an idiot? Well, thank _you_ very much for not being too discreet to tell me." She shook her head. "But damn, I've been to the bathroom every 20 minutes all day."

A frown from Neela. "It couldn't be amniotic fluid, could it?"

"Of course not. I'm only 28 weeks." Abby forced a laugh.

"Have you had any contractions? Even Braxton-hicks?"

"No!"

"Are you sure?" Neela's voice was calm and professional now. She was a doctor now, not her friend.

"I've felt like crap all day, but not much worse than usual. I'm not in labor, Neela. I can't be in labor. I'm only 28 weeks."

Neela had her firmly by the arm and was steering her into an exam room. "Haleh, page OB and see if you can scare up a fetal monitor and some nitrazine paper."

Abby numbly allowed herself to be steered, but all the time she was saying "I'm not in labor. I'm _not_ in labor."

"I hope you're not in labor," Neela said quietly. "But if you are, we need to find out _now _so we can do what we can to stop it.

And Abby realized that it wasn't only her pants that were wet. Her face was wet too.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N pt.2: The other reason, perhaps the biggest reason for the delays in writing this thing has to do with the loss of my beta reader. There are the practical issues of just plain not having a beta reader to nudge me along, bounce ideas off of, and so on. But there's also the bigger factor that my beta reader – someone I thought for two years was not only my beta reader, but also my good friend --- turned out to be a liar who created for herself (and drew me into) a very elaborate, and entirely convincing, false identity. When I discovered, quite by accident, some rather damning holes in her story, and finally confronted her, her response was to provide me with a whole new set of lies, and then vanish. (After first pulling her own stories from this site – presumably because the review pages contained mention of both our 'friendship' and several significant aspects of her imagined life.)

The whole situation has caused me a great deal of pain on a number of different levels. And one result of that is that it's hard for me to focus on writing/reading fan fiction, an activity I had connected, for almost two years, with my good friend.

So … I will do my best to get the fic finished in a reasonable period of time. (I really don't like leaving my readers hanging any more than you like being left.) And maybe try to finish "Unbearable Brightness" as well. After that … I don't know. I just don't know.


	7. Chapter 7

Dust again. The wind was kicking up the dust, creating a fog that the headlights could barely cut through. No moon tonight either. But they had the GPS; how lost could they get?

Straight south, she had said, and look for trees. If they came to trees and a dry river they had gone too far. Trees were a pretty rare commodity around here. Most of the trees within 10 miles of the camp had already been stripped to the ground for firewood.

Luka had only been out of the camp twice before, and both times were by daylight, and both with a guard. The desert looked very different at night; cool, silent and utterly empty. If not for the dust it would be, he knew, beautiful.

"How far have we come?" he asked. The first words either one had spoken since leaving on this fool's errand.

Carter glanced at the odometer. "Just under 6 kilometers. Can't see a damned thing in this stuff."

"It's not like we're going to hit anyone," Luka replied. "Traffic's pretty light today. Rush hour's over."

"I don't want to drive off the road," Carter explained. Besides, the slower I drive the less sand I stir up."

_And the longer we spend out here_, Luka thought, but he said only "You watch the road. I'll take care of the rest."

And he did. As silence descended again, he peered through the dust until his eyes ached. They hadn't come far enough, he knew full well. It would be at least another 10 miles before he had a chance of finding anything. Still, he searched anyway, trying to decide if each rock, each dune looming up through the dim haze might be a body. The sooner they found them, the sooner they could return to the relative safety of the camp, and the sooner he could go to sleep.

He jumped a bit when Carter spoke again. "The road curves here."

"So?"

"So we're not heading south anymore. Did they follow the road?"

"She didn't say."

"So, what do we do?"

"You're asking me?" Luka fought to keep the irritation out of his voice. "This is your party."

"We'll follow the road," Carter decided. "Maybe it will swing south again."

"And if he hit the C.A.R. border before it does, we'll turn around."

"Oh, we'll run out of gas long before that," Carter joked back.

"That's a lovely thought."

For the next few kilometers the road continued to curve, south, then southeast, then south again. There was less dust now; the terrain was rocky, the road rougher. Then an outcropping of rocks, and the road turned sharply straight east for as far as the headlights shone.

Carter idled the engine for a minute, looking at the road, the GPS, and at Luka., who quickly shook his head and repeated firmly "Your party, Carter. But whatever we do, if you find them in another 15 kilometers, we're going back. We can try again in the morning."

"Fair enough." Carter shifted the engine into low gear and headed south, off the road. Skirting the outcrop of rock they emerged onto a stretch of sand and rock. "It's not much rougher than the road, really," he commented after a minute. Luka didn't answer. There was nothing to say.

Three more kilometers in silence. Five … eight … The landscape remained the same; sand and rock, the occasional hill, the even more occasional shrub. But no bodies.

Then, ahead in the distance, a smudge of something on the horizon. Less sharp-edged than the rocky hills they'd passed so often.

"Carter, up ahead. What do you think?"

"Trees? Maybe." Carter said thoughtfully. "Did we pass them?"

"How the hell should I know?" Luka snapped, then took a deep breath. None of this was Carter's fault. They were doing the right thing. It wasn't Carter's fault that he was chilly and tired and thirsty. "Ok, keep going, but drive slowly. They have to be here somewhere."

Carter slowed to about 6 kilometers per hour, and Luka searched both sides of the car. The moon was out now, just a sliver of a moon, but it made it a bit easier to see – not that there was anything to be seen. More rocks. More sand. Still, he was so intent on his search out the side windows that he was startled to feel the rover suddenly stop.

Carter nodded towards the area ahead. "Trees," he said, and opened the door. Luka followed suit and stepped out into the chilly night. Trees. Acacia trees, about the only thing that grew in this harsh climate. Beneath his feet some coarse grass struggled to survive amidst the stones and sand. The river bed _was_ dry, but there was enough water beneath the surface to support life of a sort.

"Over here," Carter called, and Luka hurried to join him. A few charred sticks, the remains of a campfire. A damp depression in the sand, perhaps someone had dug deep enough to get to water. "They definitely camped here last night," Carter went on. "We're in the right place."

"No," Luka said. "_Somebody_ camped here. Maybe last night, maybe last week. It's an oasis, Carter. There's wood, there's water, there's shade. People are going to camp here. "

"It's our best shot," Carter argued. "If we head straight north from here we're bound to find them. We must have missed them. Maybe we were just a little bit too far east before. I mean … if they started out from here they'd be a few hundred yards west. It's not surprising that you didn't see them.

_Our best shot is to go back and try again in the morning._ Luka sighed. "Ok. So we need to go what … 4 … 5 kilometers?"

Back to the rover in silence. Carter drove straight west half a kilometer, then turned north.

The going was even rougher here. More stones beneath the tires, more rocky hills. Every kilometer or so Carter had to drive around another outcrop or rocks.

Then … something larger than a rock, softer looking than a rock. Perhaps 20 meters to the left of the car.

"Stop!"

The protesting squeal of the brakes as Carter brought the rover to a rapid halt.

"There," Luka pointed. "I think we found them." Despite his fatigue, he couldn't help smiling as he rummaged in the back for flashlights and, handing one to Carter, opened the door.

It was the body of a young man, perhaps 18 or 19 years old. Shot once through the chest, and cold. He had been dead for a while.

Carter joined him. "I knew it was worth trying. I knew we would find them," he said.

Them.

"Maybe not," Luka said softly.

"What?"

"Where are the others? There should be seven bodies here. This man could be anyone … I'm sure that they weren't the only party ambushed in the desert this week."

Rising stiffly from his squat, Luka slowly shone his flashlight in a circle. There … another 50 meters away, maybe …. Or maybe it was a rock. He started towards it, and saw out of the corner of his eye Carter heading rapidly in another direction.

"Here are two more!" Carter called to him, and then, excitement in his voice, "And this one's still alive!"

"I'll be right there!" Luka started to call back. He would check his own victim first. It _was_ a body, not a rock.

But a sudden sound, startling in the stillness. A crack, then another. And a shout. And Luka instinctively threw himself flat into the sand. The flashlight hit the ground just out of reach. Now his own breathing was loud in the renewed stillness.

"Carter! Carter!"

And another shot.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Yes, I'm evil. Once again I'm going to make you wait to find out what happens to our heroes. But I will return you to our lovely young heroine in Chicago.

(Incidently, I made a couple of tiny edits in some previous chapters to make the timeline gel between the two locales. It's Saturday in Chicago, not Sunday. I know most of you won't care, but I'm a perfectionist, so _I_ care.)

On with the show ...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Haleh had just gotten Abby out of her damp scrubs and into an exam gown when the door opened and a tall young resident entered. Abby recognized her as one of the first years from OB, but didn't know her name. The woman barely glanced at her.

"You paged OB?"

"Yes," Neela said. "Premature labor, 28 weeks."

"Chart?"

"I'm just making it up now," Haleh said. "Doctor ….?"

"Dr. Oliveri, OB resident." She grabbed a pair of gloves from the box. "Go ahead and scoot your bottom down here, honey." She still hadn't even looked at Abby's face.

"Is Janet here today?" Abby interrupted.

"_Dr. Coburn_ is in the hospital, but she's with a patient right now. Maybe you don't realize that she's head of the OB department, and doesn't generally do emergency room consults. I'll just check you over and report upstairs to her. Feet in the stirrups now, hon.'"

Abby sighed and did as requested. It wasn't worth the battle. Still, she caught Neela's eye and could read her thoughts as clear as day. _This woman is planning to go into obstetrics???_

"You've been having contractions, Miss …?"

"Lockhart. Doctor. Abigail. Lockhart. And Janet is my OB."

Dr. Oliveri looked up and finally looked her in the face, and Abby saw the same dim recognition in her eyes she had felt a moment before. And her manner changed completely. "Let me just check your cervix, Dr. Lockhart, and I'll page Dr. Coburn right away. How long have you been contracting?"

"I don't think I have been, not really. Some Braxton- Hicks, that's all." But even as she spoke another cramp built rapidly across her back and belly, and her words cut off with a gasp."

"Just breathe, Abby," Neela coached gently. Then, just as gently, "And that's not a Braxton-Hicks." And to Oliveri, "She's been leaking fluid as well."

Once more the pain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. And a moment later the door opened and Janet was there. Abby had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Janet wasn't well liked by the hospital staff. She could be abrupt and harsh with the other doctors, and she'd made Abby's life hell on more than one occasion during her OB nursing days, but she was the best OB in the hospital, and she was superb with her patients.

"Sandra," she said briskly, "I'll take over here. You go upstairs and help Dr. Randall in the clinic. It's getting backed up."

Oliveri gave Janet an irritated look (the same one Abby had given her many times over the years!) and stood up from her spot at the foot of the bed. "I haven't had a chance to examine her yet, and there's no chart." Tossing her gloves in the trash she flounced out.

"I'm sorry, Abby," Janet said. "I came as soon as I could. What's going on?"

"I'm having some back pain. I'm sure it's nothing." _If she just said it often enough …._ "But Neela was worried."

"She's been having contractions," Neela said quickly. "And she's leaking amniotic fluid. We haven't had a chance to check fetal heart tones or get her onto a monitor."

Janet put her gloves on and took the stool at the foot of the bed. "How far apart are they?" she asked.

"Fifteen minutes? Twenty? I'm not sure. There have only been a few contractions. Nothing regular." _And they're not contractions, they're not!_

"Ok, let me just check your cervix and we'll see what's happening. Is the baby moving?"

"Yeah, pretty much like usual."

"Good." Abby winced a bit as Janet did the necessary exam, and then winced inwardly at the look that came over Janet's face. "You're about 3 ½ centimeters dilated and almost completely effaced, and your membranes have ruptured."

"They can't have … it's just a trickle."

"The baby's head is engaged and it's blocking your cervix." Janet rose and stripped off her gloves, and took the chart the Haleh handed her. "Is Luka on his way over?"

"What?" The question startled her. "No … Luka's still in Darfur."

"Ah, I'd forgotten about that. You need to contact him. He needs to come home."

Abby shook her head. "He'll be home next week some time. He promised he'd be home before the baby came."

"Abby …" Janet began, but Abby continued rapidly. Too rapidly.

"Just admit me upstairs, give me Terb, and we'll stop the contractions." _If she just said it often enough_._If she just believed hard enough._

"Abby," Janet repeated firmly, and squatted down to Abby's eye level. "You are not just having contractions. You are in labor. You are dilating and your water's broken. This isn't something we're going to be able to stop. Not for any significant length of time. We _will_ admit you upstairs, and we _will_ give you Terb, and antibiotics, and steroids to mature the baby's lungs. With luck the Terb will slow things down enough to give the steroids and antibiotics and chance to work. But we're still talking about a matter of hours, a day or two at most. If Luka is going to be home in time to see his baby born, he needs to come home now, not next week some time."

Stronger than the pain of the contractions, a sudden wave of panic washed over Abby. "No!" she cried. "Please, Janet … you have to stop it. Do whatever you have to do, but stop it! Please."

"We will do everything we can," Janet said, still calm and firm. "And we'll hope for the best."

And then a contraction again, physical pain to sweep away the emotional. Through it she heard Neela say again, "Just breathe through it, Abby," and the thought popped into her head that she _couldn't_ be in labor now. She hadn't had her birthing classes yet. They were going to start when Luka got back. How could she handle labor without a birthing class? And Haleh's voice saying "That's 6 minutes."

When the contraction ended, Janet was writing on the chart. "Ok. Let's get her upstairs. We'll start Terb and Amp and steroids, and let's get a strep culture." Then to Abby, "This isn't what anyone would want, but most 28 weekers do well. Things have improved a lot since you worked in OB."

The sudden tone of a beeper saved Abby from having to respond. Neela quickly took her pager out and looked at it, then looked at Abby, distressed. "I'm being paged to the OR. I'm sorry."

"It's ok. You aren't an OB, and there will be plenty of nurses upstairs to look after me."

"I'll come back to see you the moment I get off. I promise."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next 15 minutes were a flurry of activity as Abby was wheeled upstairs to OB and hooked up to monitors and IV. The fetal monitor showed a reassuring rate of 120. Then Janet brought the ultrasound over.

"Let's take a look at this little fellow. Maybe we'll see why he ... or she … is so impatient." Abby smiled at Janet's rather feeble joke as Janet moved the probe over her belly, nodding approvingly. "Good movement, head is engaged, weight looks to be around 1000 grams, maybe a little more. Do you want to know the sex? I've got a good angle if you want to see."

"No," Abby said quickly. "I'd rather wait. In fact, if I can wait another 12 weeks to find out, so much the better."

"I hope you'll be able to," Janet assured her, wiping the gel from her belly. "But in case you can't … is there a phone number where you can reach Luka?"

"No, not directly. There aren't any phones in the camp … or at least I don't know the number. We email, but he only has access once a week. He wouldn't see it until Friday."

"Surely the NGO could contact him."

"Maybe," Abby agreed. "But please … don't call him. If we can stop my labor, he'll be home in time anyway. And if we can't … he couldn't get here in time, and he'd only worry all the way home on the plane."

"All right," Janet said dubiously. "Is there anyone else we can call to be with you?"

"No, I'm fine. Neela will be up soon."

Janet looked like she was about to say something, then, after a moment just said, "Ok, I'll be back to check on you in a little while. In the meantime, do what the nurses tell you."

And Abby was alone to listen to the steady, reassuring beeping of the monitors, and to wait for each contraction. Eight minutes …. Seven minutes, but not as strong …. 10 minutes … that's good …. Slowing down.

A tap on the door. And Abby was startled to see Sam standing in the doorway.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." What else could she say?

"Neela's going to be a while, and no-one should have to go through labor alone."

"The contractions are slowing down."

"Good. That's good." Sam sat down. Abby tried to think of something more to say, but she didn't' have to, because after a moment Sam went on. "Look, I never had a chance to tell you this before … but I'm really happy for you and Luka. I've never wanted anything for Luka but for him to be happy. I … left … because I knew he couldn't be happy with me. We wanted different things. I knew I didn't want to have more kids … I love Alex but one's enough for me. But I also knew that Luka wanted children, and it's just not the sort of thing you can compromise on. He loves Alex … he's great with Alex, but I knew that just being a step-dad would never have been enough for him. He wanted children of his own. If I'd gotten pregnant … just to make him happy, I know I would have resented it … resented him and maybe the baby too. And if I didn't get pregnant, he would have never been happy. He wouldn't have left me …he's not that kind of a man … so I had to do it, for both our sakes. And then when you two got together again … I was so happy. I loved seeing how happy _he_ was … seeing the way he looked at you. And I am glad that he found someone who does want the same things he wants." Sam trailed off and looked down at her hands.

And Abby couldn't think of a damn thing to say. Again, what _could_ she say? That the pregnancy had been an accident? That she had been, literally, on her way to the clinic for an abortion, but Luka had talked her out of it? That she hadn't wanted this baby at all? That every single day since the positive pregnancy test she had wrestled with her own doubts, her own fears; not only about the baby, but about her and Luka, and where they were headed together. That she still … even now … wasn't sure what she wanted? But she had to say something.

She gestured towards the tangle of wires and monitor leads. "He could've done a lot better, Sam. He could have found someone who not only wanted kids, but was capable of carrying them for the full 9 months. " Her voice softened. "Someone who could give him a _healthy_ baby. I can't even manage that."

"He won't care!" Sam said, then shook her head. "I don't mean that. I mean … I know that Luka will be disappointed to miss the birth, and I know he'll be worried about the baby for a while. But I have to think that he'll be thrilled to find, when he comes home, that he's already a father. And the baby _will_ be ok, Abby. Things may be a little rough at first, but when all is said and done, you _will_ have a healthy baby. Luka's already had enough grief in his life for 20 men. He's due for some happiness."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Time dragged by slowly. The OB nurse came in often to check her, and reported every time that, happily, she hadn't dilated any further. Sam did her best to keep her distracted with small talk, and held her hand during the contractions.

At around 7 Janet came in again. She looked over Abby's chart and checked the monitor strips, then checked her cervix.

"It's looking good, Abby," she said. Three brief contractions in the past hour, and you're still at 3 ½ centimeters. Which is exactly what we were hoping to see. I'm off duty now. I'm going to go home for a while, but the resident has strict instructions to call me at home if labor starts to pick up again, or if she, or you, has any concerns. Ok?"

"Ok. Thanks, Janet." Abby managed to smile.

"You try and get some rest." Janet returned the smile and was gone.

"Don't you need to get home too, Sam?" Abby asked. She was glad for the company, but it was still all just a little bit too strange.

Sam … who had been with Luka for a year and a half. Sam … who for all her claims to the contrary, seemed to have had a far better relationship with Luka than she could ever dream of having. Sam …who was always so sure of what she wanted. Sam … the only person in the hospital who knew about her abortion. Even Luka didn't know.

"Alex is fine," Sam assured her. "There are a dozen servants in that house. They'll keep an eye on him. And I promised Neela I'd stay until she could get back."

"Sam," Abby, asked abruptly, almost before she realized the words were out. "When did you know you'd done the right thing?"

"What?"

"With Alex. I know you … almost terminated the pregnancy. And I know that you'd … walk in front of a train for him now. But when did you get to that point?"

Sam looked serious for a moment, then shook her head. "I was 16 years old. I was 15 when he was conceived. Steve bolted the minute I told him. My parents didn't kick me out, but maybe it would have been better if they had. Instead, I got to listen to them remind me every single day for 9 months how I'd disgraced them … how they couldn't hold their heads up in polite society … not that they were ever _in_ polite society … they'd managed to disgrace themselves for decades before I did my part … and how I'd destroyed any chance I might have ever had of making something of my life. I had to take the bus to the hospital when I went into labor; they wouldn't drive me. And I labored alone … for 16 hours." A humorless smile. "Then, after he was born, I remember sitting in my bed in the post-partum ward, and thinking that I could just get up, and walk out of there, and leave him in the nursery. But I didn't .… I knew that if came home without the baby, I'd never be able to explain it to my parents. I even wondered how I could explain it to my room-mate in the hospital. I worried about everyone, and everything. Except Alex. And now … yeah, bring on that train." She squeezed Abby's hand and, with the other hand, wiped some stray tears from her own eyes. "It doesn't always happen right away, Abby. But it always happens."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Despite frequent visits from the OB nurse, and the occasional cramping contraction, Abby had finally managed to doze off. But she woke with a start when a familiar British accent said, "Abby, I'm so sorry!" Abby blinked sleepily at the clock. 11:45. "I ended up assisting on a liver transplant. It took much longer than I expected."

"It's your job, Neela," Abby said.

"I spoke to the nurse outside. She said things are going well."

"Yeah. The contractions have almost stopped, I'm still at 3 centimeters, and the baby is doing great."

"I'm so glad!" Neela sat down in the other chair.

"You don't have to stay," Abby said. "I'm not in labor anymore, and I'm just going to sleep all night. There are lots of very nice nurses to make sure nothing bad happens to me."

"If Luka was here he would be … well … here."

"If Luka was here, he wouldn't have a 6 a.m. shift in the morning. He'd take the day off. Something that you, as a resident, cannot do."

"I can sleep here," Neela said, and settled herself more firmly into the chair.

"I guess I should be going though," said Sam. "Good luck, Abby."

When Sam had gone Neela leaned forward with a smile. "I would have been here a bit sooner, but I had to make a few telephone calls first. I telephoned the Alliance. They said they would get a message to Luka. It may take a day or two, but they'll see that he comes right home."

"Oh, Neela, I said I didn't want that!"

A helpless gesture. "You want him home, don't you? You shouldn't have to go through this alone. I'm here … but I'm just a stand-in."

"You're too short to be Luka's stand-in," Abby quipped, then, "I explained this to Janet already. If we can stop labor … and I think it _has_ stopped, then he'll be home in plenty of time. And if it starts up again, there's no way that he could make it home in time, so there's no point in upsetting him. Besides, he's doing important work there. Here, he would just … sit …."

"Well, what's done is done. I can't call them back and tell them to not contact him, can I? And really Abby, he does have a right to be here for the birth, if he can be."

"If he'd wanted to be here he would have …" Abby whispered.

"What?"

"Stayed." No, it wasn't his fault. How could she be blaming him now? He couldn't have known. None of it was his fault. It was all _her_ fault. "I can't face him, Neela. Not yet. I can't … I let this happen."

"Let what happen?"

"This!" A quick gesture to take in the room. "I let it go on … I should have known something was wrong. I kept telling myself it was nothing but I _knew_ it wasn't nothing. I'm a doctor. I spent 6 years as an OB nurse. I did a NICU rotation. I know what labor looks like. How could I have not known what this was?"

"It wouldn't have made a difference. If you were in labor, you were in labor."

"Maybe if we'd done something before my water broke …"

"You _have_ done something. And you're doing fine, you said so yourself. When Luka comes home in a few days he will find you still pregnant, and on bed-rest."

"I'll still have to tell him … and I can't."

"You won't have to say anything." Neela leaned back in her chair. "Now, as you noted, I have to be up at 6 tomorrow, so I'm going to sleep."


	9. Chapter 9

A bit of a wait for the chapter again. Sorry. But it is a nice long one.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luka raised his head cautiously. Shit. The flashlight _was_ just out of reach, but its beam was shining directly on him. He couldn't be a better target for whoever was shooting at them if he'd planned it.

Lowering his head back into his arms, Luka rolled to the left – once, twice, and gasped at a sudden pain in his side. A cramp … he was tense, shaking, every muscle taut. Adrenaline rush – fight or flight, but he could do neither. He could only lie motionless in the concealing darkness and wait for something to happen.

His pulse pounded in his ears, and he could hear his own breathing, and the wind, but nothing else. The shooting had stopped. He raised his head again, just a couple of inches. About 50 meters away was a huddled form. Carter. Was he dead? Injured? He wasn't moving.

Luka licked his lips. "Carter?" A stage whisper. Nothing. A little louder. "Carter!"

"Shut up!"

And Luka relaxed just a little. Carter was still alive, and so was he. That was something, anyway.

The car was about 30 meters away in the other direction. Not so far, really. If he could get to it …

A deep breath. Why couldn't he stop shaking? Up onto his elbows and inch forward … and the pain in his side was suddenly worse. He dropped back into the sand. Deep breaths … it's a cramp. Just a cramp.

Suddenly there were voices and footsteps. Luka flattened himself into the sand and willed himself to stop shaking.

_Don't move … don't move … play dead … _The voices were closer now. Through slitted eyes he saw feet, saw a hand reach down to pick up the flashlight. The voices were more animated now. What were they saying? _Don't move … don't breathe …._ A foot nudged him, then moved on. _Ok … we're dead … go back wherever the hell you came from … just go!!_

The voices and footsteps moved off slowly, they were clearly in no hurry.

A familiar squeaking sound that he couldn't quite place at first. It was the sound of a car door opening. And voices again. There were three of them.

Raising his head again, he could see them clearly now in the light from the open car door. They were rummaging in the back; taking things. _Take whatever you want … just get out of here!_ Emergency kits, food, water bottles. All were taken from the car, discussed, and distributed. Then something else that Luka couldn't quite see … his vision was blurry now … must be the sweat running into his eyes, but he didn't dare move enough to wipe it away. A gurgling splashing sound … and a few moments later the breeze carried towards him a familiar, pungent smell. Gasoline.

Footsteps approached him again, and Luka quickly dropped his head back into his arms and held his breath. But even through closed eyelids, his face buried in his arms, he could see the red light, and he could feel the heat of the flames on his back and arms … not an unwelcome sensation. The night was cold.

The footsteps passed him and walked on, fading into the distance. A long minute of silence. Luka was about to raise his head again, but the voices approached one more time, along with the soft whicker of a horse, then hoof beats passing him, passing the burning car, and disappearing off to the east, leaving behind only the utter stillness of the desert night – a stillness that was barely touched by the crackling flames or the sound of his own breathing.

Luka waited another minute, until he was sure they were really gone, then slowly, stiffly, he sat up. The pain in his side, half forgotten during the past few tense minutes returned full-force, almost taking his breath away. Maybe it wasn't a cramp. Maybe he'd bruised himself on the rocky ground, or maybe even cracked a rib.

The sudden crunch of footsteps again, and a moment of panic before a very familiar voice came through the darkness. "Luka!" And Carter approached him.

The flames from the car made enough light to see by, at least for the moment, and Luka's first impression was that Carter looked like hell. His chin and cheek were scratched and bleeding, and his steps were more than a little bit unsteady. There was a dark patch on his right sleeve, and a dark trail down his arm. His voice shook a little as he spoke. The adrenaline rush that had supported his firm 'Shut up!' a few minutes before was gone now.

"Are you ok?" Carter asked, sitting down beside him.

"I …" Luka hesitated a moment, then said softly, "No." Denial could only carry you so far. It wasn't a bruise or a cramp. It wasn't even a cracked rib. "I don't think it's too bad though." He finally made himself touch the painful spot. A wet patch about the size of his hand on the front of his shirt, close to his left side, midway between his lowest rib and his hip. And a second patch on his back. "It's through and through," he said. "I think it just went through the muscle; didn't hit anything vital. How's your arm?"

"Hurts," Carter said sharply. "It may have hit the bone … I'm not sure." He gestured towards Luka's side. "Let me see?"

Luka started to say, "It's ok, Carter," then sighed and lifted the hem of his tee shirt. He choked back a cry as Carter briefly probed the wound with his good hand, and checked his pulse. Then Carter sat back on his heels and wiped the sweat from his own forehead with the back of his hand. He didn't say anything.

"That bad?" Luka asked after a long moment.

Carter smiled and shook his head. "No, not at all." Then, "Do you think you can walk?"

"I think so. Where were you planning on going?"

"The camp. It's 12 hours straight north."

"I don't think I can walk quite that far," Luka said quietly.

"Well, we can't stay here. They came back once, they'll probably come back again."

"I know that!" Luka snapped. He tried to think. They couldn't stay here, Carter was right about that. But where could they go? "The oasis," he said. "Let's head back there."

"Or maybe the road. There isn't a lot of traffic, but …"

"Do you know where the road is?"

"Not exactly, but it has to be somewhere east of us … if we start walking …"

"We could die before we get there," Luka finished for him. "The oasis is about 4 kilometers south. We can follow the tire tracks. Even if we have to wait a few days there for help to find us, there's water, there's shade, there's firewood; there's at least some foot traffic. It's our best chance."

"You're right," Carter said, and managed a smile again. "You always are. You were right back at the camp. We never should have …" He trailed off and he smile suddenly vanished. "Oh, no…"

"What?"

"The reason we came out here in the first place!" Carter stood up rapidly and retraced his steps into the darkness. The flames were dying down now, leaving only moonlight to see by. Taking a breath, Luka rose more slowly. His legs were a little weak, a little shaky, but they worked.

It was a woman. Like most of the people here, her age was hard to judge. She might have been 20, or 50. People, especially women, aged quickly out here. The blood on her robes looked black in the moonlight while her skin, which should have been chocolate-colored, was grayish, coated with a layer of sweat and dust. Her eyes were open, looking from Carter to Luka and back again, with an expression of exhausted resignation. There was a water bottle in the sand beside her. Luka picked it up. It was empty.

"The bullet shattered her right femur," Carter said. "She's lost some blood; she's pretty dehydrated." He fell silent, leaving the obvious unsaid. If they could get her to help she would probably survive. Her injuries weren't really life threatening; only the desert was.

"Can you carry her?" Luka asked after a moment.

Carter flexed his arm and probed the wound, biting his lip, then shook his head. "No, not that far." He sounded ashamed. "But we can't just leave her here."

"We can't help her, Carter. Even if we stay, we can't help her. If we stay, we'll probably all die. If we go … when help comes, we'll make sure they find her."

"I just hate …"

"You think I don't?" Luka snapped back. Then he sighed. "Can you make her understand?"

Carter shook his head. "I've picked up a few words of Arabic, but not enough for that."

Luka turned back to the woman. "We will get you help," she said slowly. "I promise." She couldn't understand his words, he knew, but maybe she could, somehow, understand. Whether she did or not he couldn't tell. Her expression was impassive … exhausted.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luka tightened the knot. "Is that comfortable?"

"It'll do," Carter said. Using strips of cloth torn from the robes of another victim they had fashioned a makeshift sling and bandages. They weren't much, but they would help. Carter got slowly to his feet. "Ready?"

Luka nodded and rose, wordlessly taking the helping hand that Carter offered him. He stood still for a moment, until the worst of the dizziness and lightheadedness passed, then took a step, and realized that the 'moment' hadn't been long enough. His knees gave way and he sat down hard in the sand.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Carter asked, concerned.

"I have to, don't I?" Luka stood up one more time, and let Carter steady him until he felt more secure on his own two feet. They walked together to the blackened remains of the land rover. There was nothing salvageable there. The soldiers have taken everything portable and useful. All that was left was a burnt-out shell. But there were tire tracks in the sand, heading due south. Carter mumbled something under his breath.

"What?" Luka asked.

Carter shook his head and smiled a little. "I said, 'Follow the yellow brick road. To Oz.'"

The journey was a nightmare. They didn't talk. Luka kept his head down, watching the faint track in the sand, and watching his feet. One step at a time. He focused his attention on his feet, and on the faint crunching sound of his footsteps, and Carter's. That way he could almost forget about the tearing pain in his side and the blood that had soaked through the bandage and was spreading slowly across his shirt. He could forget how cold he was, and how thirsty. As long as he kept moving forward, he wouldn't fall down. As long as his legs took one step and then another, they would hold him upright.

Or that was the theory, anyway. Every so often he would find himself sitting in the sand, with Carter crouching in front of him, checking his pulse and saying, "It's just a little bit further, Luka." Then Carter would help him to his feet and they would go on … one step and then another. And sometimes his vision would suddenly go black. He'd be sure that he'd collapsed … fainted … but he could still hear his footsteps … and then his vision would clear again and he'd still be walking.

They'd been walking forever. Luka tried once to look at his watch, but his vision was too blurry to read the numbers. Not that it mattered. He couldn't remember what time it was when they'd started out. Maybe, he thought, they'd missed the oasis. It wasn't very big, really. The tire tracks had long since faded away, scoured out of existence by the wind and blowing sand. But Carter seemed confident that they were going in the right direction, so all they could do was go on.

And suddenly, beneath his feet, the stones and sand were mixed with grass. Luka looked up. Trees.

He followed Carter a little ways into the grove. The night was chilly, but when morning came they would be grateful for the shade provided by the scrubby little trees. And even now, they helped cut the wind a bit.

Carter sat down and leaned against a tree. "We made it," he said with a tired smile.

Luka did his best to sit down slowly as well, though he gladly would have simply collapsed. "Yeah." It was the first word he'd spoken in several hours. His voice was hoarse and raspy.

Carter made it sound like they were home-free, but Luka knew, and Carter surely knew as well, that they were a long way from being safe. _If_ the camp sent out a search party, and _if_ they found them before some soldiers wandered through, and _if _they could actually find drinkable water, and _if_ he didn't bleed to death, or succumb to shock or exposure or infection … then they would be home-free.

Carter rubbed his hand over the stony ground. "It isn't the most comfortable bedding, but we should probably try and get some sleep. No-one's likely to miss us, or send out a search party before morning anyway."

Luka stretched out. No, it wasn't a feather bed, but it was better than walking. Once he was lying down, he actually felt quite a bit better. The dizziness and lightheadedness eased. For the first time Luka checked his own pulse. Carter had checked it often, but he'd never told Luka his findings, and Luka hadn't asked. He hadn't wanted to know. Weak, a little thready …. Pretty tachy … maybe 110 … 120 … he couldn't read his watch to know for sure. And he was thirsty, sweating in spite of the cold. Of course he was in shock. What did he expect? He'd lost a lot of blood. Well, he was lying down now, and in the absence of transfusions, fluids, pressors … even warm blankets, lying down _was_ the basic treatment for shock. It would have to do.

He shifted position, trying to find a comfortable spot. Not that it mattered. Despite the pain and the cold he was very, very tired. Exhaustion was washing over him. He would sleep, and in the morning they would focus on rescue; on survival.

Sleep. Or maybe it wasn't sleep. Maybe it was something else. To sleep … perchance … Luka's eyes flew open. He couldn't sleep, he wouldn't sleep. If he slept, maybe he _wouldn't_ wake up in the morning. If he slept here, maybe he'd never sleep anywhere else.

Every night for the past month he'd slept on his cot in the tiny curtained cubical, and thought about Abby … about sleeping with Abby. He'd counted the days until he would sleep with her again. It wasn't about sex, it was about Abby. Sleeping with her, being with her, not being alone. After sleeping with her for almost 6 months his cot was a lonely place. And now … now he would sleep on the hard, rocky ground … and then, perhaps, in it. And Abby …

He was suddenly struck by the irony of it all. For 15 long years he'd dreamt of having, someday, what he had lost … a family … children … happiness. After 15 years he finally had happiness … children, and now he was going to lose it. He was going to lose everything.

"Luka?" Carter's voice came through the darkness, breaking into his thoughts. "You asleep?"

"Yeah." Ask a stupid question.

Carter made no attempt to laugh at the joke, such as it was. "Hurts too much to sleep?"

"Yeah." He didn't feel like trying to explain. The lie would do. Besides, there wasn't anything Carter could do for him.

"Me too," Carter said.

But there _was_ something Carter could do. "Carter?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do something for me?" His voice was shaking now.

"If I can."

"If I don't … get home again …"

"Shut up," Carter interrupted.

"Carter …"

"You will make it home. We both will."

"I know I will. But hypothetically … if I don't …"

Carter sighed. "Ok. Hypothetically."

"I want you to tell Abby …" Luka trailed off. Tell her what? What kind of message would make a difference? What didn't she already know? That he loved her? That he was sorry?

He must have been quiet for a long time, because Carter's "Luka?" sounded anxious and frightened, and he heard Carter sit up.

"I'm ok," Luka assured him quickly. And then he knew. "Ummm… tell Abby that this was _my_ choice … I came out here because I wanted to. You just … came along …"

"Luka," Carter began, but Luka went on.

"Look, she'll be angry. But I'd rather she be angry at me … it won't matter to me any more. It won't be able to … hurt me."

"You're going to get home," Carter said again. "And you can do your own explaining." And more quietly, "And if you don't … I won't either. We're in this thing together."

Luka opened his mouth to remind Carter about basic anatomical differences between arms and abdomens, then thought better of it. He was so tired. Too tired to explain.

They were both quiet for a little while, then Carter said, "Is it a boy or a girl?"

"What?"

"Your baby."

"I don't know. Abby didn't want to find out. She had an amnio, and a couple of ultrasounds, but she didn't want to find out the sex. She said we'd find out when the time came." _And now, maybe I'll never know._

"She must be beautiful. Pregnant women really are … I remember with Kem …"

"Can we talk about something else?" Luka interrupted. He didn't want to think about Abby. No … he _did _want to think about Abby, but he couldn't bear to think about her … about the happiness slipping away from him as steadily, as inevitably as the blood oozing through the bandage and into the sand beneath him.


	10. Chapter 10

Once again, apologies. This took far longer than expected. I knew EXACTLY how the scene was going to go, but I couldn't make it work on paper. I'm still not thrilled with it, but hopefully you'll be happy enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Abby woke suddenly to _something_ in her ear. What the fuck? Her eyes flew open. That resident, Dr. Whats-er-name was standing there with an ear thermometer in her hand. Neela's chair was empty.

"Where's Neela" Abby asked, struggling to shake off the drowsiness and confusion.

"No idea. But you're febrile. 101."

Abby looked at the fetal monitor. 190. Not so good. And the clock. 2:10.

"Scoot your bottom down a little and open up," Oliveri said, swapping the thermometer for a pair of gloves. Obviously being on call on a Saturday night had improved neither her mood nor her bedside manner.

Abby pressed her legs together. "Touch me and you'll have your first malpractice suit. Just page Janet." If all this had to happen, and happen without Luka here, it was _not_ going to happen with this bitch anywhere near her.

"She's been paged. But I need to have something to report to her when she arrives. Something more than 'patient uncooperative.'" Oliveri's voice dripped sarcasm. "You know, Abby, most women would care about their babies. Most women would be anxious to know what's going on with their babies. Most women would put their babies' welfare first. Maybe we should do a drug test? I've seen this sort of reaction in crack moms, you know."

"Hand me the damned cup and I'll pee in it," Abby said through clenched teeth. "But you will not touch me!" She was drowning. Someone had thrown her in the deep end, and she'd wakened as she hit the water, and it was all she could do to stay afloat.

A low tone from the monitor, and a tightening in her belly. A contraction. But she wasn't _having_ contractions anymore. The Terb had worked; labor had stopped. Still, the contraction wasn't too strong; it didn't hurt much. Not physically anyway.

The door opened, and Abby turned hopefully, but it wasn't Janet or Neela. It was Lindy, her labor and delivery nurse. She was carrying a vial and wearing an apologetic smile.

"Do you have any drug allergies?" Of course she had to ask every time.

"No. What is it?"

"It's a cephalosporin," Oliveri said. "You're febrile on the Ampicillan, so we need to try something else."

While Lindy added the drug to her IV, she said, "Neela was paged to post-op. She said she'd be back just as soon as she could."

"Could you check my cervix, please?" Abby asked. She _did_ want to know what was happening with her baby. Or rather, she needed to know. She didn't _want_ any of this.

Lindy looked at Oliveri, who shrugged and nodded.

The exam took only a moment. In L&D they were good at this sort of thing … "You're about 4 ½ centimeters," Lindy said.

"I can't be. I was just 3 ½ …" She'd had just one contraction … it couldn't make that much difference.

Another apologetic smile. "I have small hands and fingers … probably closer to 4."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thirty long minutes and 3 endless contractions, and the door opened again to admit both Janet and Neela.

Neela ran to her. "I'm sorry, Abby. My patient from this evening went south … I had to go."

"It's ok," Abby said. "It wasn't, of course, but it wasn't Neela's fault. This was all her own fault and no-one else's.

"You're having contractions?"

"A few," Abby said, and to Janet, who was looking at the monitor strip and her chart, "Can we up the terb? I asked the resident …"

"You're maxed out," Janet interrupted.

"Magnesium then?"

Janet sighed. "Abby, you are febrile, and the baby is showing signs of stress. Whether you have an infection in your uterus, or somewhere else, or it's a side effect of the drugs, at this point your baby is better off outside than in. And with labor and dilation progressing on the tocolytics, _you_ are better off if we stop them completely. Use them too close to delivery and we put you at increased risk of post-partum bleeding."

Of course this was all true. Of course Abby already knew it. She echoed Janet's sigh and focused on the comforting squeeze of Neela's hand. Denial was fun while it lasted, but it hadn't done her much good, had it?

"Yeah. Ok." What else could she say?

"Do you want an epidural? Without the tocolytics, labor will probably progress pretty quickly. It you want one, you should have it now."

"No, I don't want anything." If she was only going to experience labor once – and she _was _only going to experience labor once; however this turned out, she wasn't going to put Luka, or herself through this hell again – she was going to experience it fully.

"All right. If you change your mind, just let us know. And is there anyone else we can call for you?"

"No, Neela's here now."

"We could call your mom," Neela suggested.

A short laugh. "She's in Minneapolis. I'll call her … later." The truth was, of course, that there really was nobody else. She had no family besides Eric and Maggie. She had no real friends outside of work .. or at least no friends close enough that she could imagine calling them at 3 a.m. Her AA sponsor just wouldn't quite fit the bill.

And another contraction hit, sudden enough and hard enough to take her breath away, and almost make her regret her decision to 'experience it fully.'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Labor. In her years as an L&D nurse Abby had attended hundreds of labors, and had delivered more than a few babies herself. 13 year-old girls having their 3rd babies … and 45 year old women having their first. Women laboring alone with only the nurse for support, and women surrounded by so many friends and family that she could hardly push through the crowds to get to the bed. Healthy babies ... preemies … stillbirths.

But none of those hundreds of labors mattered now. Abby could barely even remember them.

All that mattered now, all that was real was _this_ labor, _this_ baby. Her labor. Her baby. The contractions came harder and faster, each one longer than the one before, each one a little closer together. And Neela, Janet and Lindy encouraged her through each one, and the reassuring beeping of the fetal monital reassured her as she rested between them.

As one especially tough contraction finished, and Neela sponged the sweat from her face and neck, Abby was surprised to see that the sky outside the window was pink. It was almost morning. Surely it hadn't been as long as all that.

"I think I need to push," she said. It had been a struggle to not push through the last one.

Janet quickly checked her. "You're just about 8 centimeters. The baby is small, so it will probably fit through at 8 or 9. But if you can hold off a couple more contractions … we need to call peds and we don't want to risk tearing your cervix. Lindy, lets get NICU down here, and Abby, at the next contraction I want you to focus on _not_ pushing … purse your lips and blow through the contraction."

Abby nodded and tried to relax, to take advantage of the brief break.

The quiet of the room was suddenly broken by a ringing sound. An alarm? The monitor! No, it was the telephone on the wall by the door. Lindy picked it up.

"Hello? … She's busy just at the moment, is it urgent?"

"Who is it?" Abby interrupted. It must be for her. Janet or Neela would have been beeped on their pagers.

"It's for Neela."

"Can you take a message?" Neela asked. "Who is it?"

Lindy put her hand over the receiver, "It's the Alliance de … something? Somebody French, I think."

"Take it!" Abby gasped, wishing the cord was long enough to reach to the bed so _she_ could take it. "Maybe they have Luka!" If Luka couldn't be here to see his baby born, to help her through labor, maybe he could at least hear the first cry … she could at least talk to him. That would be something, anyway.

"Neela went to the phone and took the receiver. "Hello, this is Neela Rasgotra." She looked and sounded almost as excited as Abby. "Yes, I did." And the eager look vanished from her face. "What? Are you sure?"

Abby swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat. "What's wrong?" And the tightness moved to her belly. "Neela!"

Neela was still talking on the phone. "When did you last …" The overwhelming need to push. Neela covered the receiver with her hand. "He isn't there."

"What?"

Janet's voice. "Abby … blow … come on, Abby, you need to focus."

"Tell me!" Abby almost screamed. "Move the bed over …" She was drowning again, floundering in the deep end … nothing was real but the horrified look on Neela's face, the horrible pain and pressure. There was nothing to hold on to … Janet's calm voice at the foot of the bed might have been miles away. The only voice she could really hear was Neela, talking on the phone again.

"Yes … as soon as you hear anything more."

In her heart Abby was still screaming "Tell me! Where's Luka?!" but nothing came out. She couldn't speak; she could only push.

And the contraction ended as suddenly as it had begun, but the pain was still just as strong.

Janet said, "Ok, baby's crowning. On the next contraction give me a nice steady push."

Neela had hung up the phone. Janet said to her, "Neela, this can wait. Abby needs to concentrate on her baby just now."

"No," Abby said quickly. "Please, Neela … what did they say?"

An apologetic look to Janet. "Luka isn't at the camp. He and John disappeared a couple of days ago. No-one seems to know …"

"Disappeared? How?" And pain again, from every direction, turning the last word into a scream.

"Push nice and steady …" Janet's voice came through … and the physical part of the pain stopped abruptly. "Say hello to your son."

Abby blinked back tears. Everything was blurry now, she could barely make out the purplish form that Janet was holding up. Too purple, too small … but it must be a baby. It must be her baby.

She could barely see, but she could tell that Janet and Lindy were doing something… cutting the cord, she supposed. And something was wrong.

"He isn't crying!" Abby said. She was crying, struggling not to cry, but he wasn't crying. "Why isn't he crying?"

Lindy had taken the baby to the table under the warming lights.

"Give it a minute, Abby," Janet said. "Sometimes it takes a minute…" Then, under her breath, but still loud enough for Abby to hear, "Where the hell's NICU?" She joined Lindy at the table and Abby could hear them talking quietly, "Blow by O2 … pretty floppy … come on, little guy … show us what you can do …" And finally, a thin wail. Weak, feeble, but there.

Abby knew she should be happy, but she could only sit there, so many emotions … excitement … fear … exhaustion … joy … confusion … relief … all combining and canceling each other out, leaving only numbness.

And finally, it might have been 20 seconds or 20 minutes, and the door opened and two NICU residents came in.

"28 week preemie, 1 minute Apgar 3," Janet said quickly, and returned to Abby. "He's looking good, Abby. He's pinking up, moving his arms and legs. Have you and Luka decided on a name?"

"No … we were going to decide when he got home." _He disappeared from the camp … nobody knows …_.

"That's fine, there's no rush." Janet's voice was cheerful. "He can be 'Baby Boy Lockhart' for the moment."

"Kovac," Abby interrupted. "Baby Boy Kovac." Where had that come from? It was going to be Lockhart, she'd been sure of that much. _Something to remember him by …_ Abby shook off the thought and forced a smile. "The first name doesn't matter now, really" she said. "They'll just give him a stupid NICU-name anyway. Hercules … or Rambo." The baby … her baby .. wasn't crying anymore.

The male NICU resident, they hadn't introduced themselves, turned to her. "880 grams – that's just about 2 pounds; he has a bit of a fever, but his 5 minute Apgar is 6, which is really good for a 28 weeker." He wheeled the baby warmer over to her, so she could see. "Well take him up to the NICU, get him settled in. As soon as you're feeling up to it, you can come and see him."

Abby nodded, looking into the bassinet. The baby. Her baby. She still couldn't feel anything but 'numb.' He did look rather like a frog …she'd always thought the preemies looked like frogs. He was a small, pink frog with bluish hands and feet … squirming just a little bit. He was breathing fast, even for a newborn … but he wasn't intubated, that was good, anyway.

And he had no name. He might never … if he died before Luka came home … if Luka never came home …_he disappeared … nobody knows …_ she should name him … she might have to name him …

"We need to get moving," the resident said gently, misreading her expression, perhaps. He was expecting her to say something … do something … feel something.

She reached into the bassinet to touch a tiny hand. "I'll see you in a little while, sweetie," she said. The words sounded false … they sounded like a mother talking to her baby …

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Abby leaned back on the pillows. She'd been moved to her post-partum room, and the nurse had left her alone with Neela. She still had an IV, her bp was low, she couldn't get up until the IV had finished running and they were sure she wasn't going to hemorrhage.

Neela looked at her watch. "I really need to get to work, Abby," she said. "Dubenko said I could stay through the birth …"

"What did they say on the phone? Exactly," Abby interrupted. She had to know. Maybe she could cope with the feelings if she knew.

Neela bit her lip. "I've been thinking … I probably misunderstood something. It was long distance … the connection wasn't very good … she had a strong French accent, and I don't think her English was great … I mean … people don't just disappear …"

_They do in Africa, _Abby thought, but she just repeated, "What did they say? "What did you understand them to say?"

"She said that Luka and John disappeared from the camp sometime on Friday," Neela said slowly. "She doesn't know where they are … nobody she spoke to seemed to know … but as soon as she finds out more information she'll get back to us." She looked at her watch again. "I'm sure everything's fine. I'm sure there was just some misunderstanding … something lost in the translation."

"Yeah. Thanks, Neela. I'll be fine now."

"I'll be back as soon as I get off." Neela promised, and left Abby alone again.

Disappeared. How could he have just disappeared? Of course … he'd probably left Darfur … some pretty girl had caught his eye. French? Croatian? Sudanese? Luka wasn't picky. Luka spoke several languages. Maybe a friend of Kem's … he'd left with John, they'd said. Well … it didn't matter. She could manage just fine. No more arguments over names, anyway.

He'd just gone off somewhere. That _was_ the logical answer. It wasn't a good answer, but the alternative … no … he'd gone off somewhere. She would hear from him soon … or not.

But no … it wasn't supposed to be like this! The other bed in the semi-private room was empty … thank God. She didn't have to see another mother, another baby. Another family.

This time Abby didn't even try to blink back the tears. This time she gave into them.


End file.
